A Season in Hell
by Bellantara
Summary: To regain his Garrison commission, Sven must relive the worst year of his life. . .


Dr. Rita Jameson picked up the file for her first appointment, a young Galaxy Garrison officer coming off medical leave, needing a psychiatric evaluation. Pretty standard; she did dozens of them every month. Wanting to get an idea of what she was working with, she opened the file and paused as she hit the officer's name. Erik Sven Holgersson, graduated second in his class at the Academy, Alpha-class navigator, and member of the Space Explorer team that was now the Voltron Force. Reading the file, she saw that he had been injured in combat, and then vanished completely for over a year. There were notes from his commander and the team second in the file, firmly stating their confidence in Commander Holgersson. Those were pretty standard. What were NOT standard were the letters from the princesses of Arus and Pollux, also attesting to the Commander's fitness. Puzzled, she set the file aside, waiting for the man himself to arrive.

She had expected one of the brash, cocky, swaggering flyboys she dealt with so often. Commander Holgersson was just the opposite. Tall and dark, he walked in quietly, in a Garrison uniform that hung from his frame, his movements having the hesitancy that Rita had learned came with debilitating pain.

She stood from her desk and crossed the room to shake his hand. "Commander Holgersson, I'm Dr. Jameson, the Garrison psychiatrist, but you can call me Rita if you like. I'm going to be asking you a few questions."

His handshake was cool and firm without being punishing. "Please, call me Sven," he answered quietly, in a heavy Scandinavian accent. "I understand dis is to be an evaluation of my mental state; if you do not mind, it vould be easier if I first told you vhat happened to me."

Rita waved him to the couch and took the chair next to it, noticing the flicker of pain as he sank into the couch cushions. "I'm agreeable to that," she replied. "Your file has a pretty detailed report from Captain Kogane and Commander McClain regarding your injury, but no information past them putting you on a medivac to planet Ebb. Tell me what happened."

The commander shifted uneasily, blue eyes haunted. "I vas going to die. I knew dat vhen Keit and Lance found me, just as dey knew it, despite de brave faces dey put on. Vhen de healers on Ebb started vorking on me, I managed to grab one of dem, begging him to just let me die. He patted me reassuringly, den a jab in my arm sent me spiraling into oblivion. They did not listen, of course; one of de dirtiest secrets of de Ebb healers is dat life is sacred above all... to include the vill of deir patients. Dey also vill not permit a patient to suffer. Sounds honorable, even noble, does it not? Oh, yes, let me tell you of de honor, de nobility, of an Ebbian healer."

He stared at the wall, not seeing it. "I first avoke on Ebb, vit de robeast's claw buried in my back, pumping acid into my veins vit every heartbeat. Still, Garrison Special Forces training teaches to vork trough pain, and I vas prepared to do just that. At my first slight movement, though, a healer vas at my side, setting the IV in my arm dat vould be my ticket to hell."

A sigh. "I do not know how long I vas on Ebb; perhaps six veeks. I vill never know; I spent the entire time drugged into insensibility for fear I might feel pain. That is the Ebbian vay of healing vit deir most critical patients; overmedicate them into unconsciousness until nearly healed, den slowly back the drugs off. It is not pretty; the drugs are strong, and addiction is a foregone conclusion. But vhat is a little addiction, if the patient is spared pain? And vitdrawal is easily managed in a controlled environment, after all. A pity var is never a controlled environment, especially vhen the Drules are involved."

Despite herself, Rita gasped. Commander Holgersson glanced at her, then continued, "I half-voke vhen dey stormed de hospital, my training screaming at me to get up and fight. But, between my injuries and de drugs, I vas far too veak to even attempt a fight. De vorst patients vere killed right avay; vhy I vas not von of dem I vill never know. Perhaps I vas recognized as a member of de Voltron Force. In any event, de IV vas ripped from my arm and I vas dragged onto a slave ship."

He twisted his hands in his lap; somehow Rita felt it was not a usual gesture for him. "I vaguely remember a slave overseer decreeing dat I vas too veak to vork; he vas about to run his sword trough me vhen he caught sight of my arm." The Norwegian pushed his sleeve up, showing a horrified Rita a skull brand on the inside of his left arm. "Vhen de five of us vere first captured, Zarkon himself marked us as his particular property. Ve took perverse pride in keeping dose brands, even vhen everyting else vas healed, to remind us. Vhen de overseer saw dat, he decided ending my life vas not vort losing his own, and had me trown in de Pit of Skulls."

The commander got to his feet and paced to the window, looking out at the spaceport traffic. "De next time I voke up... forgive me, dis is not easy to speak of... I voke to an inferno in my back, and fire racing trough my veins. My bones felt full of ground glass, and not even in Norvay have I known such cold. All I could do vas lie dere and shake, vaiting for de vitdrawal to pass, cursing de so-helpful healers." He put a hand to the window frame; Rita could see the tremor in it. "I could manage de physical pain, but den... den dey came, surrounding me. De patients, de healers of Ebb, demanding to know vhy I hadn't saved dem. I vas a hero of de Voltron Force; I should have done something. For de most part I could ignore dem; I hadn't been able to move vhen de Drules came, let alone fight. My next visitors... vere not so easily dismissed."

He took a shaky breath. "Min bruders... Lt. Garrett and Lt. Stoker came first, horribly maimed, asking vhy I had abandoned dem, saying dey had died because I vasn't dere to help form Voltron. Den Keit and Lance—forgive me, Captain Kogane and Commander McClain—appeared, saying de tings, dat de team self-destructed vitout me, dat dey all died because I failed dem. Vhen I finally came back to myself, dat lingered in my mind. My broters needed me, and I had let dem down. I decided dat, if I managed to live, Sven Holgersson vas dead. I vas special forces before I vas a pilot, and I decided I vould use dat knowledge to make life miserable for de Drules, right under deir noses. But, first I had to get better."

"It took a long time." Sven came back to the couch and sat stiffly. "Being trown in de Pit had reinjured my back, and vitdrawal had veakened me further. But, as Commander McClain vould no doubt tell you, I am a stubborn Viking bastard, and I _did _get vell. At least as vell as I could; I vill alvays hurt, and I vill alvays have scars. Vonce I healed, dough, I started wreaking havoc on de Drules. Vhenever anyvon saw me, I pretended to be crazy, and vas left alone by Drules and slaves alike. Until I heard a scream, and a body falling down de Pit; I lit a candle and vent to investigate, finding a blonde girl lying on de cave floor. I heard de guards coming to make sure dere vere no survivors; I pulled her to her feet and ran into de caves vit her, de guards chasing us. Vhen ve finally stopped, my life vas turned upside down yet again. De girl vas Princess Romelle of Pollux, and she knew who I vas.

Romelle did not believe my crazy act for a minute, and simultaneously, bullied and shamed me into reclaiming my rightful identity, contacting my team—who vere, to my surprise, overvhelmingly delighted to hear from me—and getting her off Doom to save her world. In de process, ve fell in love, and I vill not go vhere she cannot follow." Sven stopped, a look coming over his face. "I tink I have vasted your time, and mine. I vant to stay vit Romelle, and I cannot do dat as a Garrison officer. I am going to go now and submit my resignation to Marshal Graham." He stood up and headed for the door, pausing to look back at Rita. "Tank you for your time, and for listening. You have helped me more den you know." He slipped out; Rita sat for five minutes, shaking with tears running down her cheeks, before she composed herself, marked the Commander's file as "closed", and prepared for her next patient.


End file.
